


high hopes

by maesilju



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Magical Realism, Rivalry, hanakotoba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-13 23:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maesilju/pseuds/maesilju
Summary: Ushijima glances at him, then, and the corners of his mouth turn up in a half-smile. "It's been a while since you've got this all fired up."He shrugs, straightening and folding his arms, trying to hide the pleased flush of warmth that thrills through him. Not that it helps; the hydrangeas only intensify in colour, wreathing him in royal blue. "You know me," Semi says, not taking his eyes off Shirabu, who's leading the pack of first-years, "Never one to back away from a challenge, and all that."After all, it's only the strong who survive.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the [ hqflowerzine ](https://twitter.com/hqflowerzine?lang=en), as an art/fic collab with the delightfully talented [ nautilics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilics), whose lovely art can be found [ here](https://twitter.com/nautilics/status/848878012858744832) \- do check it out!!
> 
> Title credit goes to Kodaline's [ High Hopes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4povfmX144).

**i.**

_Shirabu Kenjiro, setter_ , the club registration form says, ink scrawled across the page in bold, dark strokes, and Semi's lip curls. He tosses the clipboard back onto the desk, and laughs. It comes out rushed and overly harsh. Fake, and Semi wishes that he had that Seijou bastard's poise when it comes to lying. Sadly, that's not the case.

 

"What's got to you?"

 

"Nothing." Semi scoffs, lifting his chin. "Just thinking that these kids have their work cut out for them, that's all."

 

Reon's eyes narrow, thoughtful, and Semi knows he's not convinced. Reon sees more than other people think, sometimes, and while it's a boon against their opponents, it's a downright pain when that look is aimed at him.

 

"You'll be fine," Reon says, as if reading his mind, and quite illogically, Semi wants to snarl at him. He knows Reon's got his back, but 'fine' is a platitude that means absolutely _nothing_ ; not when the second string and third string are practically bursting at the seams with volleyballers dead set on a place on the court.

 

"More than fine, thanks to you," Semi forces out, with a smile to match. Reon doesn't deserve this; it's not his fault that Semi's on edge, after all. The skin of his palms warms, a traitorous, warning tingle, and Semi shoves his hands deep into his pockets, curling his fingers into fists. Bad enough that he's got competition; he doesn't have the time to deal with _this_ right now.

 

Luckily for him, Tendou chooses that moment to barge in. The conversation veers to the newest flavor of yogurt milk available at the vending machines, and Semi lets himself be baited into trying it.

 

When he slowly unclenches his fists, later, yellow rose petals strew the floor.

 

**ii.**

 

"You're all --" Kawanishi gestures, and Semi's gaze flickers down to his forearms. Hydrangeas grow wild, twining from his wrists to his elbows, in almost every shade of blue. It's a small mercy they haven't started to bloom as actual flowers, but at this rate, it's only a matter of time. The shifting colours don't hurt, but they _do_ make people stare, and occasionally, that's just as bad. The team is used to it, but the first-years aren't; Semi catches them staring, and he glares back, annoyance rising sour in the back of his throat.

 

Ushijima follows his gaze. "They'll get used to it," he says. He's not even sweating, although they've just run multiple laps around the gym, and half the team is already breathing hard.

 

"Eventually," Semi agrees, leaning into a stretch to try and ease the burn in his muscles. Ushijima, it seems, is always ahead of everyone. It makes sense -- he is their leader, after all, and a damn good one at that, but sometimes Semi can't help but feel like he's falling behind. Like now, for instance. A setter's only good if he can support his ace, and is he good enough?

 

Ushijima glances at him, then, and the corners of his mouth turn up in a half-smile. "It's been a while since you've got this all fired up."

 

He shrugs, straightening and folding his arms, trying to hide the pleased flush of warmth that thrills through him. Not that it helps; the hydrangeas only intensify in colour, wreathing him in royal blue. "You know me," Semi says, not taking his eyes off Shirabu, who's leading the pack of first-years, "Never one to back away from a challenge, and all that."

 

After all, it's only the strong who survive.

 

 **iii**.

 

The truth is, Semi's scared. Not of the first-year kid, that'd be ridiculous -- but of losing his spot on the team.

 

Shirabu doesn't know him from a hole in the ground, but Semi knows _him_ , and that's more than enough. Never mind that it was only a couple of junior high interschool matches, but it had been enough to set alarm bells off in the back of Semi's head.

 

The kid lacked finesse, but there was a hunger and a dogged intensity in the way that he played, steadily forcing his opponents' backs to the wall with every toss and serve. Not quite Semi's preferred style, maybe, but it was effective, given how Shirabu's team had flattened the competition.

 

He tosses his phone to the side; the match video keeps on playing, though, the sound tinny in the quiet of his bedroom, and frustrated, Semi flings his pillow after it -- that, at least, stifles the noise. It's all too easy to imagine Shirabu taking his place on the court, and given last month's altercation with Johzenji's captain -- serve the fucker right for taunting him in public, though -- it might well become reality. Washiro-sensei didn't make empty threats. "Get your head on right, or forget about staying on the team," he'd said, and Semi believes him. He picks spidery red petals off his bedsheets, shredding them angrily with his fingers.

 

He's never seen these particular flowers before -- he has to fumble for his phone and google, and the results are not promising. Semi slumps back into bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. Thin petals tickle his eyelids. "Too early for despair," he sighs, but in the morning, the flowers are still there, blood-red against his skin.

 

**iv.**

 

A trial run, Washiro-sensei had called it. Semi had disagreed (loudly, and emphatically), and for that he's been benched, made to cool his heels in the locker room while the match goes on outside and Shirabu earns his spot on the team.

 

His knuckles hurt from where he'd slammed his fist into his locker. Any other person would be black-and-blue by now, but not Semi; thanks to his weird, fucked-up genes, his injured hand is a lurid, seething red-orange, half-buried in a mass of orange lilies that weep petals like blood. Semi rips them out, to no avail; that just makes the pain worse, and the lilies keep on unfurling, spilling bloody over his shaking fingers.

 

He can hear the distant cheers. Shiratorizawa's winning, most likely; and for once that thought does not make him feel better. It's selfish, perhaps, but he can't help it.

 

**v.**

 

"I look forward to working with you," Semi says, teeth bared in a smile that's far too wide for this godforsaken hour in the morning.

 

Semi turns and starts for the court, not bothering to look back to see if Shirabu is following him. He's supposed to be showing the kid around, teaching him the ropes, but nobody said it had to be easy.

 

His injured hand throbs. The evidence of yesterday's outburst is hidden behind tightly wrapped bandages, but the indignity of it still stings, and spite drives him to be petty.

 

"I hope you had fun yesterday," Semi drawls, smile still plastered to his face. "Here's a word of advice: enjoy it while it lasts, because the bench's got a way of creeping up on you before you realise it."

 

Shirabu's gaze is unwavering. "Thank you for your guidance, senpai," he says, "but I believe that was actually more than one word. Twenty, to be precise."

 

Semi, despite his crankiness and the early hour, is grudgingly impressed. Kid's got teeth, and isn't afraid to show it. Too bad, though, if Shirabu's going to mouth off to him like this... ...

 

"Oh, that's a relief. I wasn't sure if you could count beyond five." Semi says brightly. "I think twenty laps of the gym would be great for warm-ups, don't you?"

 

**vi.**

 

“I’m not here to steal your place. Contrary to ... whatever you might believe.”

 

Everyone else has left. Semi’s hands ache from spike after spike, but it’s the good kind of ache, one that sends a thrum of satisfaction through him.

 

"Charming, that you think I'd be --"

 

"Red spider lilies," Shirabu cuts him off, still annoyingly calm, "for abandonment. Orange, for hatred. Hydrangeas, for pride. I'm hardly blind. You're all heart, senpai, and you can't hide it."

 

Semi stiffens. The flowers are something he's learned to live with, but that doesn't mean he likes how vulnerable they make him -- often, on particularly bad (or good) days, a few minutes looking up flower species online are sufficient to render his emotions bare to others.

 

"What's your point?"

 

Shirabu sighs. "I'm here to win, whatever it takes. I don't care if you stand in my way. Ideally - ideally, I'd like to work with you. But we can't all get what we want,"

 

Semi feels his mouth edge into a sneer _. If I had my way_ , he wants to say, _you'd be on the bench instead of me_ , but he bites it back, knowing full well just how petulant he'd end up sounding.

 

“Like I’d _let_ you,” Semi snaps, instead, and narrows his eyes, pointing at Shirabu. “Your form’s still atrocious, by the way. I can’t believe Washiro-sensei let you continue like this -”

 

“Then do something about it.” Shirabu’s looking at him dead-on, chin raised in challenge. “You’re the third-year, not me.”

 

Semi stares at him, feeling oddly wrong-footed. _Has he been baited, somehow?_

 

Damn, but the first-year’s got more guts than Semi’d pegged him for. “All right,” he says, “but don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because of this.”

 

Shirabu’s eyes flash. “Now where would the fun be in _that_?"

 

He isn't quite so smug after a series of fumbled receives, and Semi smirks, already readying for his next serve. "Let me show you how it's really done, shall I?"

 

Shirabu's only answer is a muffled groan.

 

  **coda.**

 

The graduation ceremony snails past. Semi's blazer itches, and he shifts in his seat, yawning. Boring is an understatement - so far all graduating has been is _underwhelming_ -  interminable speeches peppered with far too many aphorisms for Semi's liking; interspersed with accolades (predictably, Ushijima's name is mentioned more than ten times), and photo-taking sessions, but at last, the heavy wooden doors are pushed open and it's _over_ , this chapter of his life closed. They step out of the stuffy hall and into the bright spring sunshine.

 

Semi blinks. The first thing he does as a high school graduate is to work his tie free and shove it into his blazer pocket. The next is to dodge a tearful Goshiki, half-wailing as he runs towards his seniors. Undeterred, Goshiki flings his arms around Ushijima's midriff, and bawls some more. Ushijima pats his shoulder solemnly. Goshiki's tears unleash a deluge - Tendou is next to sniffle, before he gives up altogether and launches himself at Ushijima  _and_ Goshiki. 

 

Semi's not the crying sort, but he can understand well enough. Ushijima's been Shiratorizawa's rock for so long, it's... staggering to think of a team without him.  _Poor kid_ , he thinks -- Goshiki, for all his ambition, will  _always_ be that slightly gawky, awkward first-year to Semi, because your juniors never truly grow up, but the thought is followed closely by  _they'll get used to it, and they'll get by without him_. The second-years are growing into their own, and the new third-years are no slouch, either.  _Karasuno had better watch out_. 

 

"Senpai." 

 

Semi turns around. Shirabu's standing behind him, hands tucked behind his back, regarding him steadily through blunt-cut bangs. 

 

"Can't wait to see the back of me, huh?" Semi slants him a grin. It's become an old joke between them, time and camaraderie wearing down the edges of their verbal jabs. They're not quite ... friends, but there's no more bite in Semi's voice, no acid-sharp rush of jealousy every time Shirabu steps onto the court instead of him. 

 

"Thrilled, actually." Shirabu's mouth twitches upward in the faintest hint of a smile. 

 

"Ungrateful brat." Semi snorts. "Teach you most of what I know, and this is what I get? You'd better not forget all your lessons, kid." 

 

"I won't." 

 

"Good. Train hard, keep up the good work, and who knows? Someday you'll even be as good as me." Semi hesitates. He's never been particularly good at farewells, which is why he's been relentlessly bored and uncomfortable by turns throughout the entire graduation ceremony, but he knows he _has_ to say this. Their loss to Karasuno last season is still a sore point for Semi - he'd never wanted something so badly and then been denied -- not even keeping his place on the team. "You'll go to Nationals. You'll beat Karasuno. For us. Finish what we couldn't, and make Ushijima proud." 

 

Shirabu's eyes flash, the competitive fire in him sparking anew. "Needless to say. You'll come, won't you? To watch us play."

 

" _Someone's_ got to keep an eye on you kids." 

 

Shirabu bows, then, and thrusts a bouquet at him. "This is for you." 

 

It's a posy of sunflowers, bright yellow and cheery and very un-Shirabu. Semi goggles at them for several moments before he takes them from Shirabu. 

 

"Uh. Thank you?" 

 

"I won't let you down." Shirabu promises, face oddly flushed, and then he's gone, mingling into the crowd of recent graduates and anxious juniors. 

 

He doesn't have to Google the meaning of  _these_ flowers - sunflowers had flourished in yellow-and-green brilliance across his arms the very first time he'd set for Ushijima.  _Respect_ , Semi thinks, ducking his head to inhale the faint sweetness of the fragrance. 

 

"You're not going to cry on me, are you?" Reon's voice breaks his reverie. "Only, you were looking kind of funny just now and... " 

 

Semi looks up. The sky is clear, no clouds to be seen anywhere; it's a blue so deep and boundless, it seems to stretch on forever. "No, I'm not going to cry. You can stop worrying now. In fact..." he tucks the bouquet a little more closely to his side, "I'm going to be just fine." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> On hanakotaba, and sunflowers:  
> According to the wiki on hanakotoba, both sunflowers and dahlias can mean respect. I went with sunflowers because I like them better than dahlias, and they seemed like a cheerful note to end the fic on! Sunflowers also have other meanings: they can symbolise passionate love and radiance - but this is entirely up to the reader's own interpretation.


End file.
